The Speed of Pain
by Moniker
Summary: Set after "House's Head/Wilson's Heart". After being released from the hospital, a distraught Wilson shows up at House's door in the middle of the night. **SPOILERS** Slash, some language, one shot so far, may turn into a longer story when I get less lazy


**A/N**- Alright guys, I'm gonna sum up a very long story for you- House is my favorite show. Ever. But my job prevents me from watching it on TV, so I have to wait, and buy each season when they come out on DVD. That effectively puts me one whole season behind everyone else who watches it on TV, and because I hate spoilers, that means I cant go to the website, message boards, OR read fan fiction about the show. Which sucks majorly. Anyhow, all last year I did just fine, until one day curiosity got the better of me, and I visited a message board. Someone had put the #1 Spoiler of the entire 4th season in their title, and I accidentally read it 2 WEEKS before the season came out. Boy, was I beyond pissed. And although it didnt make me like the season any less, it still took away from the surprise, and despite the writer's strike, season 4 would have been amazing had I not read that damned board. Moral is: This story will be spoilers for the "House's Head/Wilson's Heart" season 4 finale. If you have not yet seen season 4, I strongly suggest you do so before reading this, because you have NO IDEA what you are missing, and I dont want to be the one to ruin it for you. Seriously. Go now!

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_**The Speed of Pain**_

It was 4AM. For the first time since the accident, Dr Gregory House lay in his own bed, wrapped lazily in some tangled blankets, succumbing to a long awaited, vicodin-induced coma. For a moment, every ounce of guilt that had been eating away at his soul since his release from Princeton Plainsborough was finally being laid to rest, at least for the time being. But as complacent as he seemed, he still found himself unable to get a good night's rest. The sheets tightened around his waist like an angry serpent as he tossed and turned, and his internal body temperature rose until he broke out in a cool, tormented sweat.

He could still hear them screaming.

Every time he slipped into heavy REM, his dreams would taunt him with images of limp bodies being hurled through the air, colliding with metal before they crumpled back downward. Bones bending, and then snapping like twigs under the pressure. He saw his own arm reach out desperately for the hand of a very special woman- Amber. His best friend's girlfriend. The one person that held Wilson's heart in the palm of her hand, and meant more to his friend than anyone else in the world, besides himself, of course. Over and over he felt himself reaching for her, and over and over he was forced to watch as her hand slipped from the safety of his grasp.

None of that mattered. It was neither the accident nor the slip from his hand that killed her. But in the deepest refines of House's subconscious, he couldn't help but feel as if he were somehow responsible. How could he, of all people, have not seen the signs and realized what was going on sooner? Why didn't he stop her from taking those pills? The reoccurring images of Amber falling away from House's grip at the very last moment became a constant reminder, and somehow he knew that it was his mind's way of asking those same questions.

There was a sudden knock at the door that startled House out of his cruel and tormenting night terrors. The noise was so quiet, and so far into the distance, that he was barely sure he had even heard it at all. But he did. He slumped over lazily, peering through the darkness of the surrounding room at his alarm clock.

"4:04AM", He thought to himself curiously

The only person, or persons, that might have had a reason to be knocking on his door at 4:04AM were Foreman, Chase, Cuddy... Someone that wanted to check up on him, like 13 or Cameron, or maybe... No. Not yet.

He clicked on the small light sitting on the end table, and then limped blindly out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the darkened living room. He didn't bother to turn on the living room light as he passed, yet somehow he made it effortlessly to the door, and cracked it open slowly. Trying his best to conceal his surprise, House opened the door completely when he saw Wilson standing alone in the hallway, with a slightly reddened, puffy face that suggested he had recently been crying. Obviously, there was no real need for House to ask why

"You've been... Avoiding my calls?" Wilson questioned, trying to brush off his blatantly fragile state

"I thought... You needed some space." House responded, studying his friend carefully

"You thought I was mad at you." Wilson stated, his worn, bloodshot brown eyes locking with House's ever vibrant, icy blue

There was a long pause as both men tried desperately to come up with something to break the awkward, deafening silence, but neither could. Though he didn't want to be the one to bring it up, House noticed Wilson's eyes steadily becoming more glassy, and he knew instantly that he was thinking about _her_.

"I am so sorry, James." House said, a strange hint of sincerity filling his voice

"I was mad, at first." Wilson continued quickly, brushing off the comment to avoid getting upset again, "But it was an accident. One that you had no control over at all. And it's not like I can blame anyone for doing anything wrong, either. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Reluctantly, House began with a defeated sigh, "If I hadn't talked her into picking me up, we-"

"Never would have gotten on the bus." Wilson interjected, "And then she would have taken those pills at home instead, and I would have come home and found her... dead... On the floor the next morning." He paused, taking a moment to swallow the growing lump in his throat, "You couldn't save her, House. But you tried. And by doing so you were able to give me a little while longer with her. A little while to say... Goodbye." He continued, a tear rolling down his cheek as he remembered his final moments with his girlfriend, "That's more than most people ever get."

House stood focused, still surveying his friend carefully, as Wilson's false bravado crumbled beneath him. Tears began to stream down his already raw face once more, as they had undoubtedly been doing all day, causing House to shift where he stood uncomfortably. He wasn't exactly the go-to guy when it came to other people's feelings and emotions, but standing there, watching his friend cave into his own misery broke his heart.

"I miss her so damned much" Wilson choked out, raising his hands to cover his face as he sobbed. Startled, and unsure as to how he should handle the situation, House raised his arms, offering his oldest friend a sympathetic embrace that Wilson no longer had the power to refuse. He sobbed shamelessly into House's chest, as they stood in the doorway for what felt like hours.

House interrupted him with a pat on the shoulder. Motioning for Wilson to come inside, he turned back into the dark apartment, limping his way back toward the dim light creeping out of the bedroom. Wilson followed obediently, closing the door behind him as he wiped the tears from his eyes with his shirt sleeve, in an attempt to hide his embarrassment at having broken down like that. After all these years, House's apartment had become so familiar to him that even he had no need for the light, he just followed House's lead around any potential obstacles that may be laying on the floor before entering the bedroom behind his friend. House took a moment to straighten, and then turn down the slightly messy covers before turning back to Wilson and giving the mattress a borderline-sarcastic, inviting pat.

"Take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch." He said sympathetically, making brief eye contact with Wilson before passing awkwardly by him. Wilson stood motionless in his friend's passing shadow, still slumped over in anguish, as House's form limped closer to the room's exit.

"Wait." Wilson said, stopping House in the doorway, "Please... Don't go."

House's mind was buzzing with questions now, as he turned to face Wilson, standing by the bedside. His friend's eyes were filled with new insecurities, the likes of which House had never seen in someone so close to him before, and that made him very nervous. Part of him wanted to stay, and to be there to comfort his grieving friend, but the other part tore at him, insisting that for some obscure reason, it would not be a good idea. In the end, the pained look in his friend's eyes made the decision clear to him.

Reluctantly, he nodded toward the bed, and following his suggestion, Wilson climbed in. House sat down carefully on the edge, and, reaching for the bottle on the nightstand, he popped another vicodin. He took a moment to give the situation one final thought before turning, and adjusting himself into a laying position on his back. He sat up slightly, grabbing the pillow from behind himself, and fluffed it up a bit. He placed it back down behind him, and relaxed down onto it, crossing his arms behind his head.

For a while, they kept to their own sides of the bed, neither wanting to invade the others personal space. Wilson laid on his left side, back facing House, with his arms clutched to his chest like a child who just lost his security blanket. The night was quiet and still for the longest time, but just as House began to drift off, he could feel the bed beneath them moving as Wilson lay awake, reminiscing, and sobbing to himself quietly. He was doing the best he could to try and conceal it, probably thinking that House had already fallen asleep, but deep down he knew that trying to hide anything from House never works. This time was no different.

House hesitated, unsure if he should do or say anything at all, but finally decided to reach a comforting hand through the darkness, and place it on his friend's shoulder. The unexpected touch caused something inside Wilson's head to snap, and, desperate for a soothing embrace, he instinctively squirmed closer, pulling House's arm around his neck. Somewhat panic stricken, House's eyes shifted from side to side uncomfortably, not knowing whether or not he should draw the arm back, or let it stay nuzzled in the nape of his friend's warm neck. Understanding how awkward the situation was, Wilson kept a firm grip on House's wrist, suggesting that he would not be able to pull it back without a fight.

The situation was just awkward enough to render them both speechless, but when House saw how much more content Wilson seemed in the peculiar embrace, he didn't have the heart to take it away from him. He had gone through enough already. House reluctantly gave in, relaxing a bit, and after unsuccessfully trying various other non-invasive locations, he finally rested his cheek softly against the back of Wilson's head. He stared wide-eyed off into the distance for quite some time before he realized that Wilson had stopped sobbing. In fact... He was sleeping.

"Well," House thought to himself, glancing over at the sun rising through his window, "At least one of us will get a good night's rest."

He closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.


End file.
